


No...

by TiredTM



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 08:09:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17618675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiredTM/pseuds/TiredTM
Summary: 8 years after being kicked out, Stanley Pines is murdered.Stanford grieves.





	No...

**Author's Note:**

> HAVE ANGST!! It's time to hurt Stanford instead of Stanley for once. Uhhh... Still killed Stan off though. Whoops.

Stanford grunted as he stood up, wiping sweat from his brow.  
_Working on this portal is more demanding than I thought it would be. It will be all worth it though, when we finish.._  
Stanford’s stomach rumbled, bringing his thoughts back to the present.  
_Guess I should eat something. It’s been awhile._  
Ford walked towards the elevator of his lab, walking in and pressing the button for the ground floor. The elevator quickly ascended, rattling a little as it went. After a moment had passed, a small ding could be heard, as the doors swished open. Ford stepped out and headed towards the kitchen.  
_Huh, I smell food. Did F already cook? I hope so. He is much better at it than I am._  
“Hello, Stanferd!”  
“Hello, Fiddleford. Did you cook?”  
“I did indeed, and I was just about to go drag your ass up here for food. Ya have good timin.”  
“Thanks, Fiddleford. I appreciate it.”  
“Oh, and I got the mail. It had been a couple a days, so we got quite a stack. Yours is all in a stack by the coffee pot.”  
“Thanks, Fidds. I’ll look through it.”  
Stanford grabbed the stack of mail and sat at the table with it, quickly shuffling through it.  
_Hmm, this one’s a bill, another bill, this is from a college, this is too, another bill… wait, what’s this one?_  
Ford set the rest of his mail down, holding the mystery envelope aloft. It was nondescript, plain and official-looking. The return address showed that it was from a hospital in New Mexico. Unease began to settle over Stanford as he turned over the envelope to open it.  
_Why would I get mail from a New Mexico hospital? I’ve never even been to New Mexico._  
He tore the envelope open, and began to read the letter inside.

**Mr. Pines,**  
We regret to inform you that on January 12th, 1977, Stanley Pines passed away from a fatal gunshot wound to the chest. Hospital staff found your name and address among his personal possessions.  
We ask that you contact the rest of his family, and come down to make arrangements.  
Regards,  
Dr. Reynolds, MD. 

Ford let the letter fall to the table, fingers numb and body frozen. He could distantly hear Fiddleford asking what was wrong over the roaring in his ears.  
_Stan is… Dead? No. no. nonono there has to be a mistake! He can’t be… I would have felt it! I would have known! … Wouldn’t I?_  
Ford startled back to awareness when Fiddleford grabbed him by the shoulders.  
“Stanferd? What is wrong, ya were reading that letter and then ya started cryin, and you weren’t responding!”  
_I was crying? Stanford reached up to wipe his face, hand coming away wet. I didn’t even realize…_  
“My brother, Stanley. He’s dead.”  
“What? How?”  
“G-gunshot. The letter was notification.”  
“Oh, Stanferd… I’m so sorry. Do ya need anything?”  
“I-I gotta call Ma. And Shermie. A-and I g-gotta go to New Mexico.” Stanford started to sob as he spoke, shoulders shaking as he forced the words out. Fiddleford was quick to give him a hug, which Ford curled into. Unable to hold back anymore, he sobbed into Fiddleford’s shirt until he couldn’t anymore.  
“Thanks, Fiddleford.”  
“It’s no problem. What’s your plan?”  
“I-I should go down to New Mexico before I call Ma. I need to be sure it’s Stanley, first.”  
“Alright, I’ll pack some things. You okay to pack?”  
“Wha-you’re coming with me?”  
“Of course, Stanferd. Ya shouldn’t be alone right now.”  
“Thank you. I can pack.”  
“Eat first.”  
Stanford grabbed some of the soup Fiddleford had made, and ate a little.  
_My stomach is in knots… I’ll have a couple more bites. Then I’ll pack._  
It didn’t take long afterwards for both Fiddleford and Stanford to be ready to go.  
“Ya get in the car, Stanferd. I’ll drive.”  
“Okay.”  
In no time at all, they were leaving Gravity Falls. Ford stared out of the window, lost to his thoughts.  
_I hadn’t seen Stanley in eight years. The last time I saw him, I turned my back on him. I didn’t even try to find him. How stupid of me. If I had just reached out, I could have prevented this. I could have a brother still._  
Tears slowly coursed down Ford’s face, and he reached to wipe them away.  
“Penny for your thoughts, Stanferd? It ain’t healthy to keep it bottled up.”  
“I just- It’s been eight years since I saw Stanley. The last time I saw him, he was being kicked out and I did nothing. Just because I was angry about an accident.”  
“Stanferd… “  
“I-I should have reached out. But I held on to a dumb grudge, and now he’s gone-!”  
“Stanferd, enough. This ain’t your fault, stop blamin yourself. Yeah, holdin onto a grudge is never a good thing, but you had no idea this would happen. Besides, ya were a kid then. Of course ya did dumb things.”  
“T-thanks, Fidds.”

Only the radio could be heard in the car, playing quietly while Fiddleford drove. It was late, and Stanford had long since passed out against the car window, exhausted from the tears he’d shed. Fiddleford checked on his friend regularly, sorrow for him radiating through his body.  
_Stanford doesn’t deserve this. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if one of my brothers died, let alone how I’d feel if I had a twin that died. That’s a hurt that I can’t quite grasp._  
Stanford stirred against the window, eyes cracking open as his memories of the day began to return. He sat back and wrapped his arms around his stomach, head bowed.  
“Stanferd? I’m gonna stop in the next town, get us a place to stay the night and some food.”  
“How long was I asleep?”  
“About 2 hours. Been driving for about 5.”  
“Ok.”  
Fiddleford worried at his lip, concerned for Ford. Ford had always been talkative and lively, but now he was quiet and sad, as if all of his energy was sapped permanently from his body.  
It didn’t take long to reach a town.  
“We’re in Ontario, Stanferd. I’m going to go ahead and get food for us, and a room.”  
“Can we keep going? I want to get there as soon as possible.”  
“Stanferd, it’s a long drive to Albuquerque and ya ain’t fit to drive. I need to rest. I promise we’ll head out early tomorrow.”  
“Ok.”  
I’ve never heard him so… broken. He always says a full sentence.  
Fiddleford, unwilling to upset his friend further, was quick to find a restaurant and get them both inside. Despite the hunger gnawing at his belly, Fiddleford found himself picking at his food. Ford was no better, pushing the food around his plate with a dead look on his face.  
“Ya need to eat, Stanferd. To keep up your strength.”  
“Mh.”  
Ford reluctantly brought a bite to his mouth, slowly chewing and swallowing. He continued to eat mechanically, and Fiddleford did the same. Soon after, they found themselves at a hotel, settling in for the night. As Fiddleford crawled into bed, he looked at Ford, who was sitting on his still-made bed, staring into the distance.  
“Try to get some sleep, Stanferd. You need the rest.”  
“I will.”

It didn’t take them long to be on the road once again. Stanford still wasn’t speaking much, and Fiddleford was at a loss for what to do. He had never dealt with grief as profound as what Stanford was going through.  
_The best I can do is get Stanferd to that hospital as fast as I can, and pray that there was a mistake. Pray that Stanley is alright, somehow._ Fiddleford pressed harder on the gas pedal, allowing himself to go a little above the speed limit. As he drove, breaks were few and far between. At a rest stop several hours into the trip, Ford finally spoke up again.  
“F, let me drive.”  
“I’m OK, Stanferd.”  
“Please. I need something to do. And you look like you could use a break.”  
“Alright.”

Fiddleford woke with a start. It was dark.  
“Stanferd?”  
“Ah, Fiddleford. You’re awake. Would you mind driving for a bit when we reach the next town? I’m afraid I’m getting quite drowsy.”  
“Of course, Stanferd. Where are we?”  
“Left Provo, Utah about 20 minutes ago.”  
“Made good time. We should be in Albuquerque in a few more hours.”  
“Mhm.”  
They switched over in Tucker, Utah, and Stanford was once again silent. Fiddleford turned up the radio for background noise, and he pressed through the last leg of the trip. He breathed a sigh of relief as he reached the Albuquerque city limits, his body aching from the grueling trip. Finding a decent hotel and checking in was easy, and he led a tired Ford into a room. Both men collapsed onto their beds and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Both Ford and Fiddleford awoke when the sun shone through their hotel window. They moved slowly that morning, not looking forward to what had to be done.  
“Let’s get this done, Fiddleford. I can’t wait anymore.”  
“Alright, Stanferd. What was the name of the hospital?”  
“University of New Mexico Hospital.”  
“Let’s go.”

It took awhile to find said hospital and find somewhere to park, but it seemed like it took no time at all. Stanford had become a fidgety mess, fiddling with the letter that had brought so much pain. They walked into the hospital and up to the front desk. Stanford was quick to speak up.  
“Uh, Ma’am? I-I got this letter, about Stanley Pines? N-notification of death?”  
“Oh, yes. I’ll call over someone to lead you to the morgue. I’m sorry for your loss.”  
Stanford visibly stiffened, tears beading in his eyes.  
“Thanks.”

A nurse came to lead them to the morgue a few minutes later. Ford and Fiddleford followed her through a maze of halls and down a flight of stairs until they came to a door. Ford hesitated for a second, then continued through the door.  
“You’re here to confirm the identity of Stanley Pines, correct?”  
“Y-yes. I’m his twin brother, Stanford.”  
“Oh. This must be difficult.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Anyway, this is him.”  
She stopped by a refrigerated drawer, pulling it out and drawing back the sheet.  
Stanford took one look at the corpse and dropped to his knees. Fiddleford ran up to him, intent on comforting his friend, when he saw the body.  
There was no doubt.  
It was Stanley.  
Stanford’s body shook with badly-suppressed sobs, and the nurse kindly left the two men to grieve.  
“I-I got-gotta tell M-Ma.”  
“Give yourself a minute, Stanferd. Ya gotta calm down a little.”  
“O-ok.”  
“Deep breaths.”  
“I-i’ll try.”

It took several minutes for Stanford to calm down enough to leave the room and ask where he could find a phone. The nurse directed him to a nearby one, and stood a ways away to offer some privacy. Hands shaking, Stanford dialed his mother’s psychic line, unwilling to risk his father answering the phone.  
“Madame Mystery here, here to help with all your supernatural needs, for just 3 dollars an hour!”  
“Ma?”  
“Ford? Is that you darlin? Why are ya callin my hotline?”  
“I-I didn’t wanna risk Dad answering the phone.”  
“Stanford, what’s wrong?”  
“Stanley… Stanley’s dead, Ma.”  
“W-what? Are you sure? How?”  
“Yes. H-He was shot. I guess he had my contact information, the hospital sent me a letter.”  
“Oh God, my little free spirit…”  
Stanford could hear his mother start to sob, and he struggled to keep from crying once again.  
“Where… where are ya, baby?”  
“I’m in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I came down to see before I called, I had to be sure.”  
“Oh baby…”  
“I, I am gonna work on arrangements.”  
“I’m comin down to help.”  
“You don’t need to, Ma. I can handle it.”  
“Ya shouldn’t have to. I’m coming. Besides, I failed your brother. The least I can do is make sure I can give my baby a good send-off.”  
“Ma…”  
“I’ll see you soon.”  
“He’s at the University of New Mexico Hospital’s morgue. Fiddleford and I are at a nearby hotel, I’ll give you the address.”  
“Thank you baby.”


End file.
